


Claustrophobia

by PikaCheeka



Category: DRAMAtical Murder (Visual Novel)
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-17 17:24:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13663764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PikaCheeka/pseuds/PikaCheeka
Summary: Virus finds a bag of pills when he and Trip get held up in a business hotel. The drug is not what they expect. The room is a lot smaller than they first thought.So is the bed.





	Claustrophobia

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been a long time coming, and I'm sorry to not post anything for a bit. Thank you for waiting! It's finally the sex drug fic that all OTPs have to experience at some point or another. I've been wanting to write this for a long time now.

 

 

"What was that? I feel..." 

"Aphrodisiac." A trickle of sweat runs down his chest and he pulls his shirt away from his skin. "It's a bit much, isn't it? Shouldn't have taken two."

"You took that many, too?" Trip sounds incredulous, as usual. "You're smaller..."

"Of course I did. I thought it was something else."

_\- - - two hours before - - -_

"Weather is not bad enough to cancel."

Virus sighs and examines his nails. "It will be soon enough. They run enough ferries to know when it isn't safe."

"Fuckin' hell. They only run they a day. Shouldn'ta cancel unless it's really bad." He kicks something Virus can't see on the sidewalk. Dangerously close to an upset.

"I'm not happy about it, either, Trip." He says it pleasantly enough, but he's inwardly seething. _We didn't even bring a go-bag. We have nothing. And they canceled the last ferry back to Midorijima so we have to get a hotel for the night in this shit little city and we have nothing with us._ "Should we hit a conbini first or find a hotel first?"

"Store. I need. Undies." He sings the last word. "Not wearing any. And a drink. A few drinks."

 _I really didn't need to know that._ But he ignores it. Better to avoid drawing attention to it. A quick glance at his coil tells him what they need to know. "Family Mart point two kilometers that way."

"Like Lawson better."

"That's nice. Family Mart is closer."

Trip grins now, wolfishly, and glances sideways at him, hands stuffed in his pockets and his suit coat unbuttoned. "You're being bitchy. You mad you don't got a toothbrush and deo?"

"A little."

"Can buy some."

"Hum." He only sets an alarm for an hour before the earliest ferry in the morning.

-

They'd wasted a lot of money there. Fresh undershirts, boxer briefs, deo spray, toothpaste because Virus despised the little tubes that hotels offered, packets of vitamins, hair gel, a hairbrush, smokes, a couple of beers, and junk food. Trip had lingered in the hygiene aisle, wavering in front of the travel size tubes of lubricant before Virus had pushed him away. _You can go one night without jerking off_.

They'd also wasted a lot of money at the hotel. There weren't many in the city, especially not with rooms available at last-minute notice. Nothing but a sleazy, overpriced business hotel with rooms barely large enough for one adult male of Caucasian persuasion, much less two. Only one bed, a double crammed against the wall so that one had to climb over the other. A bathroom so tiny the toilet was nearly in the shower. Only one pair of slippers and only one yukata. No wonder the boy at the desk had tried to tell them the room wasn't large enough for both.

"Think the TV works?" Because he certainly can’t enjoy himself any other way in a space this small. He wants nothing more than to crawl into a hot tub for an hour or two. There isn’t even a bathtub here.

Trip grabs the remote and flicks it on. "Yup. Looks like only news though. Everything else costs money."

"Business hotel standards." It's all he expects. Even the internet connection is terrible. He leans forward from his perch on the edge of the bed and peers behind the desk. "When was the last time they vacuumed behind here, do you think?"

"Come on, Virus... it isn't that bad. Just a little cozy." But it's a lie, because Trip gets anxious, irritable, in closed quarters like this. He's like a caged animal. It's why he likes mirrors on his bedroom walls, why he’s constantly opening doors Virus closes, why he likes large windows and no curtains, though the older man also knows that he might not even be aware of this. Cozy is only fine as long as they're together, as if shared misery resolves all fears.

Something catches his eye then. "Ah ah ah." He lunges forward, drops to his knees and shoves his arm beneath the desk. His fingers brush against a bit of plastic and he sits back on his heels. "Isn't that bad, indeed."

"What's that?"

"Pills. It looks like..."

"It looks like...?" Trip's full attention is on him now. If he were the dog he acts like, his ears would be perked up, tail wagging uncertainly.

"Red Tiger." They say it at the same time just before grinning and breaking out laughing.

One of the new uppers on the streets. Absurdly expensive, absurdly rare, Virus had only tried it once, and Trip not at all. Not even with their connections was it easily accessible. Which means that they don’t think when Virus rips the bag open.

They should have thought about it a little more, but they were stressed, frustrated, bored, and excited all at once. Years in a hospital and years experimenting with drugs on the street means neither of them think twice before swallowing random pills dry.

-

"Uhm. Guess that wasn't RT," Trip groans. His face is flushed, a pale pink tinge over his cheekbones. Sometimes a freckle or two shows when this happens, and Virus has always wondered how many he has, so faded they only mattered in times such as this. Even at six they weren’t visible.

"No shit." His own language surprises himself.

"What was that? I feel..."

"Aphrodisiac." It’s a feeling he knows all too well. A trickle of sweat runs down his chest and he pulls his shirt away from his skin. "It's a bit much, isn't it? Shouldn't have taken two."

"You took that many, too?" Trip sounds incredulous, as usual. "You're smaller..."

"Of course I did. I thought it was something else." _And I have a higher resistance to drugs despite the size._

"Who the fuck would bring that to a business hotel? No room for whores here. Musta been one sad, _sad_ , little man."

"Calm down. These don't ever last very long." But he doesn't feel very calm himself. His heart is pounding so loudly he feels as if his entire body is jolting with every beat. He feels hot, far too hot, already damp with sweat. And then there’s the tension radiating through his pelvis, the hardness of his erection. It's worse than any aphrodisiac he's ever tried and he's not sure if he can even stand up.

Trip rubs his palm over the front of his pants and untucks his shirt. "No way I can't hit it."

"Just do it in the bathroom." He shakes his head, disgusted. _And please let this be over soon_. He doesn't need to be in a tiny room with a horny, aggravated Trip all night.

The younger man rolls his eyes but he steps into the bathroom as he unzips his fly. _At least he can walk_ , Virus thinks as Trip all but slams the door behind him. He isn’t sure he himself can. _I should be more immune to this._

He tries not to listen, tries to think about something other than sex, but the room is too small. The bathroom is too close. He can hear the sighs, the rustle of fabric the slap of skin, the grunt when he climaxes. And then he hears him running the shower, hears his clothing drop to the floor. He knows he doesn't have to bother snapping at him to save some hot water for him. Neither of them will be using any tonight. He groans and shifts uncomfortably, resisting the urge to jerk off. He is still sweating too much, feverish and almost shaking in need. He envies Trip's ability to just do whatever his body demands at a moment's notice, wishes he could be like that. But sex doesn't work that way for him. He needs more stimulation. He jumps when the door opens.

"One down. Did nothin'." His wet hair hangs in his face as he gestures aimlessly at his crotch, towel tied around his waist failing to hide anything. His eyes are dangerously bright. He's pissed, and Virus doesn't like him being pissed. He remembers Trip's claustrophobia, his tendency to hallucinate when intoxicated, and feels even more sick.

"Let's eat something. We should try to get it out of our system, maybe dilute it." He sounds more composed than he is, but he has to be the one in control here, the reasonable one.

The thought of food calms him as he picks his clothes up off the floor, zips up his fly and pulls his dress shirt down. He grins wolfishly and nods at Virus, vaguely menacing. The look he has when he leans against the back wall of a titty bar. "There's vending machines on the floor below us. But cover your tent. Or carry yer jacket."

Virus reflexively closes his legs and presses a hand over his dick. _Don't look_ , he wants to say, but he only says, "You should carry yours too. You're still worse than I am." He's surprised when he is able to stand, knees locked to still the trembling. His thighs twitch occasionally.

Trip walks too close to him as they traipse down the hall, bumping him with his hip occasionally, every touch a burn. "Did you jerk off while I was in there?"

"No, and don't jostle me like that." Why are all business hotels so grimy, the halls narrow and the lights dim? Why does he feel like he's in a cage again? He desperately needs air, but he knows the window back in the room will be chained shut, prevention against the epidemic of suicide raging through the population of middle-aged men in Japan. Maybe hurtling through twenty-five meters of cold night air wouldn't be such a bad idea.

"Can't take the heat? It's not gonna go away on its own. You have to just take care of it." He almost sings the last words.

"It actually hurts," he sighs, pushing coins into the slot, eyes scanning the choices as he tries to ignore the shaking in his hands. Nothing he wants. Barely anything edible. Not that it matters, because he's sure not to taste much of anything. He has had enough drugs over the years to know that nothing will be able to distract him from the raging of his hormones. "Why are these always the cheapest brand possible?"

"Shouldn't have eaten all the conbini food so fast." Trip shrugs as he punches random buttons.

They eat fast, wolfing down four cups of ramen between them, Trip leaning far too close in towards Virus to finish his second, bumping shoulders and breathing in his ear. It's more food than either of them want, but they don't know what else to do.  Trip laughs for an inordinately long time at the "mystery meat" advertised on his ramen, but otherwise they eat in silence.

"So food doesn't help." The younger man drops his last cup on the table and groans. He still eats too fast, always has, even if at the institute he never had to worry about other kids stealing his food. Everyone knew he was a vicious biter, a protection extended to Virus simply by virtue of sitting next to him.

"Just give it a little while. It's not even in your gut yet." But he knows. Knows it won't make a difference. He just feels faintly ill now, that sick churning deep inside, the giddiness that sometimes takes over him just before sex now uncomfortably like the giddiness just before vomiting. He didn't expect to feel worse, and the throbbing in his crotch is relentless.

Trip sighs loudly as he unbuttons his shirt again. It's already wrinkled from how much abuse its taken in the last half hour. "Okay. Let's watch TV then."

"Mmm, the news?" He grins, shifts his weight uncomfortably. _He's just opening it because he's hot. I'm hot too, but I didn't take a cold shower like him. I should be the one taking my shirt off._ But he doesn't dare undress when Trip is doing the same, doesn’t want to give him any ideas. "I don't remember you ever willingly watching that."

He doesn't answer as he flicks it on. 

It takes Virus a moment to understand what he's seeing. The expanse of skin, the jerking staccato movements. The unnecessarily loud moaning and slap of flesh. He blinks several times, narrowing his eyes and resisting the urge to take his glasses off. _I'm hallucinating._ But he knows he isn't. "This isn't news."

"Nope." Trip stares, fixated, unblinking, slack-jawed for a few seconds. And then he shudders, as if awakening, and turns it off just as quickly as he'd turned it on. But he's grinning guiltily as he says, "Not a good idea."

"What the hell? You ordered porn? Why would you order porn?" He's almost spitting, the rage erupting out of him. _I never get angry like this. Must be the drug, the drug_. The realization that the arousal is not giving way to anger, but that the anger is simply becoming another layer, makes him uneasy. It must be happening to Trip, too.

"I didn't." But he still has that guilty look on his face.

"You did, too. Give me that." And he turns the TV on again before the younger man can protest.  But it's gone. It's only news.

"The fuck." He gapes, always slow on the uptake. "Did some hotel staff sneak in here earlier and buy porn for us for 30 seconds or what?"

"Maybe we imagined it." Because the drug is certainly strong enough. All he can think about is sex. And now those images are in his mind, the sounds… He silently prays that he won't start hallucinating about Trip. That is something he can do without.

“Can they do that anyway?”

“What?”

“Buy 30 seconds like that…. What else even makes sense?”

“I don’t know, Trip.” He can’t think. He covers his face and inhales air through his laced fingers. “Just don’t.”

"Okay I can't." He swallows hard and Virus focuses on his adams apple. "I gotta shower."

"Again? Let me this time." He snaps before he can stop himself, before he can control his anger.  Things are escalating. He needs the drug out of his system right now, but he knows full well the fastest way to get over it is not a road he wants to go down. “How’s the water pressure in there?”

Trip stares at him strangely before shrugging. "You gonna aim it up your ass? Lets jerk off then."

"Why? We both know it's useless."

"You didn’t even try….”

“Shut up.”

But he doesn’t shut up. He never does. “Maybe if we do it to each other."

"Trip!" But the suggestion sends an uncomfortable jolt through his body. It could work. It's something different, something exciting. It might be the stimulation he needs. It might keep him busy.

"We used to play a little as kids, yea?" He’d always been disconcertingly nonchalant about sex.

But even as he responds, "We'd just touch each other though. And we were kids," he knows he will do it.

 - 

The hardness of his erection is a sharp contrast to the soft skin of his dick, such a contrast that he risks a glance despite his better judgment. He's big, bigger than him in every way, thicker, longer. Not _attractive_ , but not _unattractive_ like a lot of men Virus has seen. Not that he ever looked for attraction down there. Business chats in hot tubs and business chats in empty basements. Luxury and torture. They'd gone through a phase, stripping everyone they interrogated, threatened, intimidated, tortured, killed, just to humiliate them further. Somehow thinking about this makes Virus even harder 

Trip's too rough, jerking inconsistently, rolling his thumb hard over his head and tugging so hard that Virus is left wincing and shuddering. "Come on, you can't," he gasps. "Do me like you do yourself."

"I'm not. Trust me." He's leaning into him, bumping his chin against his shoulder and breathing so heavily Virus is having difficulty focusing on anything else. The veil of whatever cheap soap he found in the bathroom does little to mask the smell of sweat and sex emanating from the younger man. And then he growls. "You'd know."

Virus squeezes him then, clenching hard enough at the base to halt the progress of his orgasm. "You're getting too excited," he pants. Maybe I don't want him to focus too much on me after all.

"Yea it happens when I jack off," he snaps. Pissed. But he keeps pumping.

"Just don't. Growl. I'm afraid you'll bite." He relaxes his grip then. He can't look at Trip anymore, not after that noise, not even a quick look, an accidental glance at even his thigh. Just look at yourself. A hand pulling his shirt up further, studying the trail of pubic hair moving down from his naval. Trip's is more obvious. He could feel it, coarse and red - though how it felt red, he is unsure of - when he'd first palmed him. His abs are more prominent too. His pecs. Every muscle half again the size of Virus', harder under a thin layer of fat. It never bothered him before, but now they're both hard and desperate and the more impatient one is much stronger than the other and suddenly that's unnerving. Virus catches himself letting loose a whimper only moments before climaxing. The orgasm hits him like an explosion, violent and exquisite, burning through his veins and severing his optic nerves.

Trip laughs through the haze, a sharp and vicious bark. "You fast, yea? Keep it up." He squeezes his fingers around the older man's.

And Virus keeps it up, mechanically jerking his hand up and down until Trip's hips stutter against his own and he growls. He doesn't even feel the mess, still incoherent, and he finds his face pressed into his throat just as Trip turns away, wringing his hand and letting loose a string of expletives. "It ain't enough. I can't believe it. Not even your pretty fingers did it."

Virus doesn't answer for a long moment as he gulps air and tries to erase what was just said. It's as if Trip hadn't even noticed that he'd been nuzzling him, and he silently praises the power of whatever pills he found on the floor, even if only for a moment. Because having pretty fingers is bad enough. He doesn't want to be recognized as being pretty anywhere else, as making pretty noises, a thought that causes him to glance down at his groin. He'd ejaculated more than usual. "It's an alarmingly strong drug."

"You still hard?"

"Yes." It's his turn to swear. His desperation for sex is rising. He glances down at his hand, at the fluids dripping from it. He'd always wondered how Trip's come tasted, a thought he wishes could unthink as he shudders. "How can you have that much come in you after so many orgasms?"

"I'm twenty-four," he breathes in deeply then, eyes already half closed again in need. "My hands are both tired now. Think a blowjob is too much for us to do?"

"Definitely." _He knows what I’m thinking. He knows I just thought about him like that._ He feels sick. He doesn't want to go down that path, doesn't want to let him even consider the possibility of them being that connected. "Now try to sleep if you're tired."

"It's just my-" But a look from Virus shuts him up and he sighs, settles back down on the bed.

Even as Virus rearranges his pillow, adjusts his weight and tries to relax, he tries to reason with himself. Blowjobs are out of the question, but he can think about them. _He_ can, if Trip can’t. He can control himself better than the younger man _. I'm going to anyway whether I want to or not._ So he pushes his scapula together and runs his fingers down his torso. He imagines the hot wet warmth of Trip's mouth, his perpetually pouting lips and how they would wrap around him. He'd probably be horrible at it, but when you're as hair-trigger aroused as Virus is, that sort of thing hardly matters. And so he continues to dwell on it, how Trip would hold his hips down, or maybe let him rest his thighs on his shoulders, squeeze his neck like a woman _. Interesting. Different..._

Then Trip abruptly interrupts him. "It's even more awkward now. This tiny bed. Only even has one open side."

"Sh. Let's just relax. Breathe in and out slowly. Think of something really unsexy." Which he himself is certainly not doing.

"Like what? You?"

"I don't know. I- Hey. Fuck you."

"Don't say that." He groans.

"Yea. Sorry about that." He wishes he could unsay it. He can't stop thinking about sex as he stares at the ceiling, unblinking. He wants to jerk off again but he'd have to crawl over Trip to go to the bathroom. Not that it matters after what they just did. He wants to kiss him, touch him, grab his ass and roll his hips against him.

"I need to touch someone. All I can think about is fucking. Getting my dick wet and-"

"Don't." Because thinking about it is not the same as hearing it.

Trip sighs again before Virus notices him moving out of the corner of his vision. _He's going to jerk off again, isn't he?_

Virus closes his eyes then, tries desperately to ignore him. Telling him to be quiet is clearly futile. He just has to block him out, like he used to do when they were children _. He's Trip. He's not attractive. But he is. He's my work partner. So what? He's my room-mate. And? I've known him since he was practically a baby. As if social norms have ever stopped you. He's not attractive, remember? Oh, but he is. He'd make you bottom. Fair enough. But would it really be so bad? Just once? Yes, yes it would be._ He moans and rolls over to face the wall, the movement causing his dick to jerk uncomfortably. He can hear Trip breathing. He lasts about two minutes.

"We have to do something about this." And he's straddling Trip's waist before he can stop himself.

"No shit but uh. What's that mean?" He looks startled, nervous even, that fear and confusion masquerading as complacency that is so familiar in the depths of his memory. Virus hasn't seen him this unhinged since they were children, and it makes him lick his lips, bite back a grin.

"It means we have to deal with this. It's a medical problem, isn't it? So we should cure it." _Better to look at it clinically._

"Like. Fuck?"

"That's a bit much," a roll of his hips, erections grinding together between two thin layers of fabric. "Why so nervous though? You're the one who's been narrating a porno. What about frotting?"

"Uhm." He's fidgeting beneath him. Nervous, embarrassed. Seeing Trip like this is rare and oddly tantalizing. Apparently he’s only nonchalant about sex when it’s all words.

"You suggested a blowjob earlier. That’s more intimate. It’s not like we haven't touched dicks before." 

"It's different inside a whore." But he's blushing now, the flush of embarrassment as opposed to arousal.

"We could thigh-fuck instead. If frotting's too weird for you." The words sound crazy even as he speaks them, one bad idea spilling forth after another _. It's the drug, the damn drug_. This is going to go badly unless they find a way to resolve it right this second.

"Isn't that kinda one-sided though?"

 _So is fucking._ "We could both do it."

Trip's silent for a long time. The words sound as if they'd be rolled around in his mouth for days when he finally speaks. "How 'bout you do me first?"

Virus reels back, incredulous. Trip being willing to accept at all, much less first, is so unexpected it's suspicious. He's clever in a slow stupid way, able to disguise his true intentions until it's too late for everyone else involved, but Virus files this away. He's still hot and bothered, worn and sweaty and anxious, his dick hard. _I'll deal with this later._ "Come on. Get your pants off."

-

"Don't squeeze your thighs so tight. It's uncomfortable without lube." _And I’m already chafed and uncomfortable._ Trip is on his knees in front of him. They had decided that not facing one another was the safer option. But Virus has never thigh-fucked a man before and neither has Trip and neither know quite what to do about it. Because everything is different with a man. There's no hips to grab, as Trip had pointed out as they'd stripped. _Why are we both taking off all of our clothing_ , Virus had wondered, but he hadn't asked. He’d been too distracted by Trip’s body, by the fact that removing his clothing has only made him more feverish 

"I tried to buy it earlier..."

He resists the urge to slap him and instead runs his hands down Trip's broad back, marveling at how the muscles twitch beneath his fingers. There are faint scratches on his shoulders, leftover from his last conquest. He fingers the scar at the base of his neck, identical to his own where the two of them had been injected with dozens, maybe hundreds, of drugs over the years. None as good as this one though. Any arousal they got out of those drugs was accidental, a byproduct, and not a collection of chemicals geared towards this purpose. His dick is hard and the heat in his belly curls up his spine.

"Don't." Trip snaps. "Just get on with it and jerk me off while yer at it."

He's nervous. Virus likes him nervous. He crouches low over him and settles into position, arms creating a cage over Trip's shoulders. Claustrophobic. The room is small as it is, hot and dark with the walls closing in. He feels predatory, satisfied with how Trip trembles below him.

"Hey you know. How you always followed me when we were kids? You ever think this would happen?"

"What's _happenin'_? You're just doing my thighs."

"Mm. True. It's still sex. Sort of." He punctuates every few words with a sigh or a moan. It feels good, that tight warmth around him. It’s what the drug wanted from him. "We always spent so much time together. In a little cot. A cell. A building. Insignificantly small. We barely ever went outside back then. Just a little. Walled garden. And now..."

"Do you always talk this much when fucking someone?" But there is a grimace in his words that Virus doesn't have to see to be aware of. _That claustrophobia. He doesn’t need to be reminded of it._

"Uhm... Sometimes." Because women have commented on it in the past. _You talk a lot. Can't you shut up a bit? I really don't care about your roommate._

The younger man laughs then, a sharp bark that could be from humor or nervousness, rolls his hips back up against Virus, the muscles in his back bunching and rolling like a cat, all teeth and rippling sinew. A passive reminder that even though he's beneath him, he's still more powerful, more physically dangerous. But his thighs are tight, wet with sweat and come and burning up in the heat of the drug. But there's no softness, no give, and that frustrates Virus. It isn't enough, _isn't enough_. The drug is still slicing through his veins as strongly as ever and he craves something more.

"Talk to me," he whispers in Trip's ear, ghosts his breath over his jawline as he wraps his slim fingers around his dick, still a slick mess from his previous ministrations.

And Trip talks, haltingly, as if bored instead of aroused and distracted and nervous. Half of his words are mutters, low growls and incoherent mumblings. He doesn’t last long, and he comes fast, unexpectedly, abruptly, with a snarl of a "Hurry up."

Virus only laughs, slowing his pace as he presses Trip's face down into the mattress. He doesn't resist. The imperceptible moment of weakness immediately after an orgasm. It’s exhilarating to see Trip in this position, to know he brought it on, to know he’s inside of him to some extent, and the thought makes something inside of him simultaneously shut down and catch fire. This orgasm is even more violent, more heated, than the last.

But he doesn’t have a chance to revel in it. Trip bucks and shoves him off almost immediately. "Okay, yep. Done with that."

Virus leers, "You came even before me," but the apprehension is creeping upon him fast, dulling the edge of his afterglow before he can even enjoy it. Not strong enough to dull the drug though. He's still sweating profusely, as if he's burning up. He registers the ejaculate on their thighs enough to think _, this drug is really too impressive, we aren't even coming dry after all this time_. He doesn't want to really think about potential side effects, about what this will feel like in the morning, about how they probably won’t be able to have sex for a good week after this at any rate, about the state of the bedsheets. And then he's flat on his back.

Trip presses him down into the mattress, that feral look in his eyes again that makes Virus feel small. He remembers the muscles rippling beneath his skin across the expanse of his back. It’s a very different image when he’s beneath this man as opposed to on top of him.

"You know why I wanted you to do me first?"

He swallows. He's hard and hot and heavy and Virus is already nervous. "I can. Guess." Because he can now. He doesn’t want Trip to explain it, but he knows he’s going to anyway. Taking a hint was never his area of expertise.

"So if you did anything funny to me, I can fuck you for real. And if I do anything funny to you, well… You can't get back at me." He whispers the last few words.

There's nothing he can do but ignore it. He can only try to stare him down, glasses so filthy and fogged over by now he would be better off without them. "This position's too much." _Too intimate. I don't want to have to face you._ “We should do it the same way again.”

Trip shrugs.

"Why. Do you want." He gulps, opens his mouth to finish the question, but Trip's tongue is inside of him, his lips on his, before the words get out. _So that’s why he wants to face me._ It's a frantic kiss, all teeth and tongue and saliva. It feels good, unexpectedly good, jolts up his spine that radiate from the fire in his groin. They're close, intimate, crushed together on a small bed in a small room. There's something to be said for small spaces, he thinks absently as Trip begins fucking his thighs, jerking back so far he rubs against Virus' balls with every thrust.

There's so much sweat and come between them they're almost slipping in the sheets, and the same thing crosses Virus' mind in the same instant that Trip says, "We don't need lube."

Virus bucks and rolls his hips up as he leans up, bites at the younger man's lip. "Why...would we need it. Anyway." But even as he says it, he feels Trip's hand sliding down his back.

Trip only grunts in response. And his fingers pause over the slope of his ass before pressing downwards, down down, down...

Virus is snapping, hissing, catching Trip under his jaw and shoving his face to the side as fast as he can gather himself. "No. No. Don't even..."

"Jes once. Let me."

"No!" Because Trip won't stop with his finger and they both know it. He’ll just keep pushing and pushing until he’s inside of him and it will be actual sex and Virus will be his bitch then and-

He says exactly what the older man is thinking. "I'm inna position to do a lot more. Still hard." But he obeys, much to Virus’ surprise, goes back to merely clinging to his hips and thrusting down between his thighs.

Trip fucks him so hard that he tries to scrabble out from under him, claws at the sheets and the shelf above the bed in lieu of a headboard and heaves himself backwards. He doesn't trust him not to try again with his fingers, not when he's this aggressive. But Trip is too strong, too heavy and too firm.

Which, Virus discovers, is exactly what his body prefers.

-

"God, I'm sick of this." There is a whine in his voice that he can't be bothered to control at this point. He hasn’t had control over his body in a long time now. 

"You’re crying..." but he's gasping for air himself, and his comment doesn’t come across nearly as mocking as he clearly intends it.

Virus would normally have a comeback, but not now, because he can feel the tears running down his face. "How many times did you orgasm tonight?" He mumbles into his ear. They're tangled together on the sheets, naked and simmering in what's now a cold sweat, but no less heated for it.

"Dun remember."

He knows he came less often than Trip, still far more than he should have been able to. He also knows they are too close, too intimate right now. But he can't be bothered.

"Too tired," Trip growls then, a sentiment that Virus can only nod to. Its lesser now, a pale memory of what it had been, but he knows he is still in the grip of that drug, that he will be for the rest of the night, easily. And that he’s too worn out to do anything but wait it out now.

“Just. Slow breaths, Trip. Relax.” He touches his chest one last time before turning away to stare at the wall. _Breathe. Breathe. It’s dissipating now. My body can’t physically do any more._ And _, that was one hell of a drug. I wonder who designed it. How much it costs. Where it’s being distributed. Who else knows about it._

He is too busy wondering about this to resist when Trip grabs his shoulder and pushes him flat onto his stomach again. In fact, when he feels that weight bearing down on him, he only grins weakly. That feeling of skin on skin is unexpectedly pleasant as the drug spits one last bout of fire through his veins. _That weight, that heat._ He raises his ass and arches his back and lets those hands slide down his torso. _How easy it is to replicate…._

-

"God. Did we..." 

The words jar him awake, cause him to snort and gasp out a “No. No.” before fully understanding his surroundings. He's sprawled in the bed, crushed between the wall and the younger man, one arm around Trip, legs tangled together, face pressed into his chest. They've woken up like this more than once in the past, but never this filthy, this sore, this raw and ragged. He's only wearing a dress shirt, wrinkled and filthy and unbuttoned and too large. Trip’s. Because Trip’s wearing nothing. He doesn’t remember putting this shirt on, much less taking everything off, which he clearly had done at some point. He wants to ask the same question as Trip. He lets the feeling slowly seep back into his body. His dick is burned, chafed and uncomfortable, and his hips and thighs ache. But his ass doesn't hurt. Not too badly anyway, not bad enough for _that_ to have happened. He sighs in relief. "We did something but not that."

"Kay." It's enough for Trip, who now rolls onto his back to stretch and groan when he cracks his eyes open to sunlight. "We should throw these sheets out. Jes sneak out the back and pretend we were never here. Can’t explain this mess without..."

He doesn't want to reflect on that. Virus has a splitting headache, the worst hangover he's ever experienced. "Was drugs, right?"

"Yea. Dunno what."

"Good. How many pills left?"

"For real?" He laughs, rolls over and makes a grab for the plastic bag on the desk. It’s a long time before he responds, as if his head is as fogged over as Virus’. "Another four."

Rubbing his eyes, he wonders if he will regret it when he says, "Let's take them." But he knows that Trip would take them whether he said it or not.

“You really wanna do that again?”

“No. Not after that kind of close call.”

“Then what?”

He inhales and holds it in for eleven seconds. He feels the residual heat on the sheets beneath him and grins. “I want to replicate it.”

 

 (end)

 


End file.
